


no nuisance like decorum

by harmony



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, this is an EXTENDED and fleshed-out version of the short 2k piece in the memento amare gladnis zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 07:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harmony/pseuds/harmony
Summary: Being royal retainers to the Crown Prince demands a certain kind of restraint, respectability, and public etiquette.Too bad Gladiolus and Ignis aren’t actually that discreet with each other.





	no nuisance like decorum

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extended version of the piece I submitted to the [Memento Amare gladnis zine](https://twitter.com/AmareZine) (the zine had a 2k word limit per piece, but I wanted to add more to the story, so you guys get an extra 3k on top of that!). Contributing to the zine has been an incredible experience, and it’s a great privilege to now be able to share my work with everyone here!
> 
> This is my first ever gladnis fic, I hope y’all enjoy :)

It’s _definitely_ Ignis’ fault.

Because Ignis doesn’t have to sit the way he’s sitting – as if the chair that he’s leisurely draped over is a picture frame to hold him in: a refined masterpiece. Elbow perched elegantly along the polished wooden back, one graceful knee crossed over the other, head tilted thoughtfully to the side in a manner that stretches out the sensuous length of his throat.

Ignis really has no business looking _this delectable_ in such a boring meeting, and it’s hard for Gladiolus not to stare.

It’s almost like electricity when Ignis swivels his head and their gazes meet, eyes locking in together; the thin arch of a brow rises in surprise over dark-rimmed spectacles before Ignis casually wets his lips with his tongue, as if he just _knows_. Even with the heated answer of his dark pupils dilating in reaction, he looks like the perfect portrait of calm composure while Gladiolus is over here on the edge of his own seat, getting hot and bothered without even meaning to.

‘—olus? Gladiolus?’

He blinks once, twice. Turns, and the meeting room around him shifts back into focus.

Twenty-odd faces peer at him with anticipation, including King Regis himself, and whatever’s just been discussed has managed to completely fly over his head, for once.

‘… I, uh,’ says Gladiolus, scratching idly at his beard. ‘Sorry. I think I missed the question.’

‘I can help answer that one on his behalf,’ Ignis cuts in smoothly, without a single hint of imbalance or hesitancy. ‘Three of us will be accompanying His Highness to the destination. He’ll be adequately protected, and …’

It’s kind of unfair, how Ignis is always so well-put-together that he can just do that sometimes.

On top of everything, Noctis throwing them both a pained expression and facepalming in the corner isn’t exactly helping matters, but Gladiolus supposes that he and Ignis both deserve that.

 

* * *

 

The thing is – and the point is – it’s not easy keeping professional and proper composure when one’s got the most flawless boyfriend in the world.

Especially not when one works for literal royalty and is always surrounded, on an everyday basis, by legitimate officials who certainly have no qualms trying to enforce that expected decorum. Including one’s own father.

‘ _Don’t slouch_ ,’ says Clarus, tone firm and gaze strict, and Gladiolus can hardly help letting out a slow sigh.

‘Hey, at least I’m looking you in the eye at your actual eye level.’

‘Yes, very funny. Why aren’t you in your suit yet? The dinner starts in just over an hour.’ An exasperated click of a tongue, and weathered hands pulling at the fabric of Gladiolus’ tank top in a manner that’s restless, but not angry. ‘I’ve no issue with the kind of attire you choose to dress in on a day-to-day basis, but I don’t need to tell you how important tonight’s banquet is. Whether we like it or not, we need to look presentable in front of the dignitaries.’

‘Oh. Well.’ Gladiolus squares his shoulders, steeling himself. ‘Both my shirt and the suit jacket kinda got a bit crumpled earlier, and—’

‘—And I’ve since re-pressed them, so they’re good as new,’ a smooth, steady voice rings out from the open doorway.

The thing is – and the point is – Ignis is actually _perfect_. He’s equally perfect when he’s sloppily tangled within Gladiolus’ bedsheets as when he’s bedecked in a crisp tuxedo and waistcoat, spine ruler-straight and not a single hair out of place, like right now. He’s equally perfect when his face relaxes into a honey-sweet laugh as when his eyes hold the kind of iron discipline that both exudes and commands respect, like right now. He’s equally perfect brandishing deadly daggers in both hands as when he’s casually propping up two garments on coathangers from his curved fingers, all nonchalant and devil-may-care, like right now.

Ignis looks so unspeakably handsome in his own suit at this moment, standing there by the door in wait.

Gladiolus’ next intake of breath catches in his throat.

Clarus’ gaze flits meaningfully between the two of them; it undoubtedly doesn’t take him long to make the obvious connection between Gladiolus’ confession of creasing his dinner attire and the fact that Ignis is the one who’s here with the issue solved, because he clicks his tongue and blatantly exhales in evident surrender.

‘There’s really no helping you two, is there,’ he says with some measure of defeat. ‘Go on, then. Get dressed.’

Gladiolus chances an appreciative nudge of his elbow into his father’s ribs, and is relieved when his father doesn’t seem cross at all for it. ‘Thanks, Dad. For, uh, not making this awkward.’

‘Don’t test me,’ Clarus deadpans, but without any true note of annoyance.

The thing is – and the point is – Gladiolus is a pretty lucky guy in all respects, and he does know it.

Dating Ignis is, without a doubt, more than an enormous part of feeling so fortunate; with all the times that professional etiquette seems to fly out the window when they’re in each other’s presence, he’s very much aware of that too.

 

* * *

 

He always knows when Ignis’ eyes are on him by the sliver of heat that curls at the back of his own neck.

And from that, he naturally flexes a little harder. Breathes a little heavier. Moves with the towering strength that Ignis always _loves_ to see him move with – even if it’s Ignis he’s actually sparring with.

Gladiolus swivels around just in time to block Ignis’ dual strikes with his own greatsword, the silvery ring of steel against steel echoing up above them into the lofty roof of the training hall.

Smooth agility versus raw power always makes for an interesting kind of opposition, but still, he and Ignis are unquestionably well-matched in more ways than one.

‘Nice try,’ he croons teasingly, as he parries the following thrust of Ignis’ daggers. ‘But you’re just a little slow.’

Of course, he’s speaking much too soon – in the very next moment, a near-inhumanly fast and rock-solid leg’s managed to knock both of his own out from underneath him, and then Gladiolus is falling, plummeting, landing on his back with an immense thud.

Pale spots flicker across his eyes; it’s oddly thrilling.

Even through his brief clouded daze, he feels Ignis sink down to bracket his hips snugly with sturdy knees. The flat of Ignis’ steady hand braces down against his chest; a little wisp of a smirk coils the corner of Ignis’ lips upward, and if he weren’t pinned down, Gladiolus may have given in to the sudden urge to lean up and lick it away.

‘Mind repeating that?’ Ignis drawls under his breath, keen and devastating and sharper than the edges of his blades.

Gladiolus slowly props himself up on one elbow, eyes dipping unintentionally to the central curve of Ignis’ mouth. The only thing even kindling in his mind right now is the fiery thought of kissing Ignis stupid, and to his muted delight, Ignis looks like he very much wants the same.

Which they likely would’ve done had they been alone, and not here and now with Prompto purposefully, sheepishly letting out a loud cough.

‘… Guys, we’re still here.’

 _We_ being Prompto as well as the nineteen other relatively new Crownsguard recruits that Gladiolus and Ignis had just been demonstrating certain combat techniques to, all of whom – Gladiolus notices as he turns his head – are flushed rather pink in the face and pointedly letting their gazes wander away in all directions.

He can’t really blame them, in the end.

 

* * *

 

He’s been diligent and attentive for the _entire_ press conference so far, so there’s no real explanation as to why the universe has suddenly decided to turn against him.

‘My son will embark on what I believe is going to be one of his greatest journeys.’ King Regis’ voice rings out crisp and clear even amidst the rapid, continuous shutter clicks of innumerable cameras spread all across the courtyard. ‘The marriage in planning will formalize a magnificent union, and …’

Setting Gladiolus on the opposite side of the quasi-V-formation to where Ignis is standing, not to mention a step higher on the Citadel’s great stairway, is clearly a terrible mistake. Because registering Ignis at the corner of his sight for even a single second is enough to have him _looking_ , to have him thoroughly absorb how absurdly eye-catching Ignis truly is in his official Crownsguard uniform; really, Gladiolus is hardly less flawed in his organic desires than any other human being – he can hardly help noticing how attractively fitted the dark suit jacket and trousers are to the curves and contours of Ignis’ back. Not to mention Ignis’ _backside_.

It’s no surprise, then, that – to make matters worse – Gladiolus manages to hook Ignis’ attention with his indiscreet staring, too. Because before he knows it, they’re suddenly eyeballing each other across the stairs.

And Ignis unexpectedly winks.

It’s very quick and extremely subtle, and Ignis is still carrying a respectable air of unsmiling propriety, but Gladiolus’ heart nearly stops in his chest. He’d just openly ogled Ignis’ butt on live national television. Ignis had just knowingly _winked_ at him on live national television.

Beside him, his father pointedly, emphatically clears his throat.

If anything, that never fails to bring him back down to Eos in a way that nothing else can.

‘… I have a question for the Prince’s Shield?’ says a young reporter standing toward the front. By some cosmic miracle, Gladiolus actually manages to compose himself and recover quickly enough to snap his focus back to the matter at hand.

‘Yep. Go on,’ he answers in acknowledgement, loud and clear.

The look of pride that Ignis flashes him is entirely worth it.

 

* * *

 

‘Am I allowed to ask for a replacement Shield?’

Gladiolus lets out a clipped grunt in response, casually unimpressed. ‘I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.’

‘… Why does Specs have to come too?’ Noctis presses on with wholly unconcealed exasperation.

‘Because there’s much we still ought to arrange in preparation for the wedding ceremony, and if I were to leave the two of you be, you’d doubtlessly be out until late,’ Ignis says, steady voice lacking in even a sliver of nonsense. ‘I’m sticking around, whether you like it or not.’

Noctis lets out a pained groan at that. ‘So you basically just came along to mother me.’

‘Hey, c’mon. I thought you’d have more faith in me than that,’ Gladiolus cuts in, throwing Ignis a mildly wounded look. ‘Getting Prince Charmless back home on time isn’t a hard thing to do.’

‘You’d think so. Which makes it even more bizarre that the two of you returned from the shopping district at ten o’clock in the evening last week, despite all stores closing at eight,’ Ignis shoots back with upright efficiency. ‘Forgive me if I don’t take any chances.’

A smirk crosses Gladiolus’ mouth before he can help it, kindling warm, honey-slow. After all, given the circumstances, that conclusion is entirely fair.

‘… You’re pretty hot when you take charge, you know.’

The strict composure etched into Ignis’ brow visibly loosens, little by little; his mouth quirks upward just a touch at the corners. ‘I believe you’ve made that known to me several times in the past, yes.’

‘Astrals, I just wanted to go out for _one drink_ ,’ Noctis says in complaint; it comes tinged with the faintest note of a whine. ‘I wasn’t asking for a front-row seat to your gross flirting.’

‘Tough cookie, Your Highness. Iggy and I are technically on duty to escort you, right now.’ With that, Gladiolus gives a light, good-natured clap to the rise of Noctis’ shoulder blade. ‘Besides, what’s an evening drink without a couple of buddies to share the night with?’

Noctis can only grumble in grudging agreement.

 

* * *

 

Gladiolus’ first thought is to wonder why Ignis is here.

A curiosity that doesn’t end up mattering all that much, once his mind zeroes in on the fact that, right now, Ignis looks like a model in a luxury cologne advertisement.

Numerous heads in the hallway are actually turning, and for good reason: seeing _the Prince’s personal advisor himself_ in an underground level of the Citadel is kind of a rarity, given that his office is situated on an upper floor and Noctis mostly keeps himself to the areas even higher than that when he’s around.

On top of that, Ignis doesn’t exactly have to go the extra mile and sweep down the corridor with the splendor and bearing of some kind of deity, what with his chin raised high, his crisp suit jacket hanging tastefully from his fingers and draped with leisure over one shoulder. Except that’s _exactly_ what he’s doing.

Their gazes catch and snag on each other; Gladiolus’ mouth goes dry.

‘Gladiolus,’ Ignis greets as he walks by, green irises gleaming with furtive heat – and holy Astrals, _the_ _full first name_. There’s something just a little spicy about Ignis’ public decorum in this respect; if this is how he views etiquette, then Gladiolus is more than ready to die on this hill.

‘… Ignis,’ he answers, dipping his head in a single nod of attempted respectability.

He already knows, as his eyes follow Ignis’ fluid departure down the hallway, that this is all he’ll think about the next time he eagerly presses Ignis into the cool bricks of the wall of his bedroom.

The afterimage of that lean back retreating burns behind his eyes like it’s been branded there; he’s barely prepared at all for his own sister to practically materialize out of thin air at his side, cheerfully chirping in almost-singsong, ‘You’ve got a little drool there, Gladdy.’

Gladiolus’ hand flies to the corner of his mouth in reflex, only for his fingertips to meet dust-dry skin.

‘No I don’t!’

‘I mean, with all the _smoldering_ that was obviously going on just now, you may as well have,’ Iris points out, her tone drenched in sunny mischief. ‘Anyone ever tell you guys that you don’t really do a good job of eyeing each other like you’re not super-thirsty?’

‘You cheeky little moogle,’ Gladiolus drawls, and is answered with squealing laughter as he reaches out to tickle her sides.

 

* * *

 

‘It’s technically your fault, you know,’ Ignis pants against the curve of Gladiolus’ jaw. ‘This is all on you.’

The randomly tossed-out accusation isn’t enough to make him come to a complete stop, but Gladiolus takes a brief pause to nip once at the shell of Ignis’ ear, his blunt fingernails digging into the cushions of Ignis’ bare thighs. ‘Yeah? So what did I do now.’

‘You, by your very being alone, have doomed us.’ The words are an odd match to the keen, firm roll of Ignis’ hips against his; Gladiolus is hardly able to keep himself from letting out a tremulous groan at the exquisite skin-to-skin friction, at the slow-spreading undulations of heat. ‘I can’t imagine why else self-control goes out the window where we’re concerned.’

This time, Gladiolus _does_ pull back.

‘What? Hey, you haven’t exactly been able to take your eyes off me either. Don’t even try to worm your way out of this, Iggy, you’re totally just as complicit when—’

In the next moment, he’s toppling and tumbling sideways out of nowhere, and the back of his head collides with the springy softness of a crookedly angled pillow; it takes him an extra stretch of a moment to realize, through a dazed blink or two, what’s just happened – Ignis had quickly flipped their bodies around with such efficient strength and agility that Gladiolus was already supine with Ignis on top of him, curved over him in a sinuous arch, before the fizzling circuits of his mind had even registered the new position.

‘What I _mean_ is, you’re built like a god.’ The sentiment burns like an intense fever, scorching and ardent and mouthed wetly into the ridge of Gladiolus’ collarbone. His cock instantly swells even more at Ignis’ unmistakable show of enthusiasm: Ignis moves to press kisses to Gladiolus’ throat and is evidently just as worked up as he is, cock fire-hot and hard as steel, hips grinding down into Gladiolus’ with equal measures of impressive unhurried patience, wanton appetite, hazy euphoria. ‘Sculpted to perfection, really. Every bit of you, with your rigid angles and firm contours, just – stunning beyond description.’

Long fingers curl around the meat of Gladiolus’ bicep in careful reverence, as if to make a point, and that’s enough for whatever’s left of Gladiolus’ dwindling composure to straight-up crack into pieces. His chest heaves, pulling inhalations in shorter gasps; he pushes his thumbs into the dips of Ignis’ waist and rocks up into him, savoring the rush of simultaneous relief and thrill trickling up his backbone, because he absolutely gets it. Boy, does he _one hundred percent relate_.

Ignis proceeds to lay more weight on that mutual feeling: straightening up now and casting his head back, pupils dilated, lips parted, indulgence clinging to the thin stream of breath spilling past his teeth.

It’s almost as if each of his rolling muscles, every inch of his skin, were carved out of primal urge itself.

‘… I’m not so shallow to be together with you solely for your physical appearance, but regard – ah, _gods_ ,’ Ignis continues, a sharp rasp from his throat that’s somehow also fraying at the edges, dusky and decadent. ‘—Regardless … ah … you must surely know it’s impossible to look upon you at any given moment without getting hot and bothered.’

‘You’re pretty easy on the eyes too, y’know,’ Gladiolus murmurs under a shaky exhale, reaching between them to wrap snug, sturdy fingers around both of them at once. ‘Gorgeous as hell. Not my fault I keep losing my cool whenever you’re in my line of sight. _Fuck_ , Iggy, that’s good.’

‘How utterly sweet.’ A scrunching nose and coiling half-smirk that’s just a touch too sultry to not drive Gladiolus a little bit wild, especially not in addition to their hips picking up pace. Urgency’s starting to flare in the undercurrent of the way Ignis fucks into the circle of Gladiolus’ palm; a fluid curve to his thrusts, smooth and graceful and possibly the hottest thing Gladiolus has ever seen.

He knows that they won’t last much longer. They rut into the building heat between their bodies in earnest, near-drunk on the slick, luxurious pressure of their cocks together as they move counter to one another; it’s hardly even been that long at all and Ignis is already eyeing him with a raw, open desperation that makes it clear that he’s dangerously close. Gladiolus himself isn’t too far away, that telltale warmth quickly mounting between his thighs and every fierce stroke of his hips now sloppy and stuttering, an increasing mismatch to Ignis’ tempo that still feels insanely good either way.

Even in the midst of their unruly rhythm, the tender undersides of their shafts seem to perfectly align, just like they’ve always slotted and fit seamlessly into each other in just about every other way. The electricity in all their points of contact sear even more fervently with every thrust; tension grips the base of Gladiolus’ spine, curling taut, and he can’t help but clamp his teeth around that rapture.

‘Shit,’ he hisses, fingertips sinking deeper into the sweat-dampened skin of Ignis’ waist. ‘Please, Iggy, come on—’

And with that, they both tumble over the edge, one right after another: Ignis’ guttural moan filling the vast space beneath the lofty roof and his folded legs clenching into Gladiolus’ hipbones so firmly that the after-traces of their grip will surely still be felt in the morning – and then Gladiolus following close behind, coming hard enough for his vision to blank out to a hot white behind his tightly shut eyelids. A sudden heaviness weighs down their muscles, earthy and mellow; in spite of it, they don’t stop, riding out that wave of sensation until it slows. Until it wanes. Until it fades. Until, at last, all that’s left are tendrils of a pleasant calm grazing against their oversensitive nerve endings, and a soft haze blanketing their surroundings.

It’s the kind of euphoria that Gladiolus knows they’ll never, ever get tired of.

He slowly slides his eyes open and lets out a breathy laugh, uncurling his palm to release his hold on the two of them; they’re both sweaty and streaked with come, and even then, the night’s still young and he’s certain there’s bound to be more. Awash with gratification, he props himself up higher on a single elbow, and slopes forward to plant a messy kiss to Ignis’ mouth.

‘No, it’s definitely _your_ fault,’ he grins with abandon, warm and giddy. ‘We’re gross and sticky and all I want is to keep going all night.’

‘Be careful what you wish for,’ Ignis murmurs good-naturedly in reply.

Rich green eyes gleam with a hint of a smile in the dark, as if to say: _the fault is entirely yours._

 

* * *

 

‘… Am I allowed to ask for a replacement advisor?’

Gladiolus lets out a clipped puff of air through his nose, flicking a blunt gaze across at Ignis and pumping up the bulk of his shoulders once in a casual shrug. ‘Well, at least he’s trying to disown you and not me, now.’

‘No, you don’t get a free pass. I hate both of you,’ Noctis cuts in with complaint, soft undereyes darkened by shadowy circles and tufts of hair rumpled in wayward disarray. ‘Specs was just louder. Doesn’t mean _you_ were being discreet in any way. I couldn’t sleep for _half the damn night_. I’m not going to training today. You both suck.’

The pair of exhausted-looking Glaives standing right by them in the sprawling hallway, obviously on extended guard duty in front of Noctis’ room, aren’t even bothering to hide their grimaces at the conversation being brazenly held right out in the open; from the rosy flush gradually blossoming on their faces, it seems that Noctis hadn’t been the only one to overhear everything that’d taken place in Gladiolus’ bedroom the previous night.

Ignis bites down thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment, before sweeping his tongue wetly across it and releasing a heavy sigh. The pace of Gladiolus’ pulse picks up a little in hopeful relief; he can identify Ignis’ signature Troubleshooting Sigh any day of the week. Gladiolus’ typical idea of cutting this conflict short would be to throw Noctis over his shoulder right now without any moment’s hesitation, and haul him over to training kicking and screaming. But diplomacy and reason tends to work better on a grumpy, testy prince, and Ignis is more than a ripened master of that kind of skill.

‘… Our humblest apologies, Your Highness,’ he says smoothly, with a fleeting dip of his head: a show of modest respect. ‘In the future, we’ll be certain to keep it down and not get so carried away.’

‘Your _humblest apologies_ won’t make me unhear what’s already been heard, and I’ve got no choice but to try to survive this whole day on about three hours’ sleep,’ answers Noctis, visibly cross. He fixes a dagger-sharp glare on Gladiolus, then, continuing: ‘Why do your chambers have to be next to mine.’

A question that Noctis already knows the answer to, and is clearly asking just for the sake of putting forward a frustrated protest: a means of letting loose in whatever way he’s able to. Judging by his increasingly souring mood, Noctis has no intention of making things easy for them, and that much is fully evident.

‘I’m your Shield,’ Gladiolus monotones without skipping a beat, his tone frank and flat. ‘You know that that room was appointed to me – totally not any decision of my own making.  Any time you sleep at the Citadel, I’ve gotta be nearby.’

‘What’s the use of having Glaives stationed in shifts in front of my chambers at all times, then.’

‘So I can still sleep like a regular human being? While still being nearby. And so I can do—’ Gladiolus pointedly lifts a single eyebrow, sliding a meaningful look across at Ignis again. ‘—Other things. Like a human being.’

Clearly not the best thing to mention right at this moment, Gladiolus suddenly realizes, because Noctis’ tense, already-grumpy expression strains and crumples even more at the edges.

‘… You guys are the _worst_ , I’m so—’

‘—Noct,’ Ignis cuts in immediately, piercing and efficient; almost like a momentary blaze of fire. ‘As before – we are sincerely sorry.’

Each word is pronounced slowly, Ignis’ mouth curving with tremendous patience and weight around every syllable.

For some span of time, Noctis can only stare at him in wordless silence. After a while, however, he pushes out a quiet gush of breath and clicks his tongue in annoyance: a promising hint of concession, all things considered.

‘Go to training,’ Ignis presses on in a steady and reasonable voice, reaching up with slender fingers to nudge sleek eyeglasses further up the line of his nose. ‘If you’d like, I’ll happily make myself present too. You can throw punches at both Gladio and I to your heart’s content – it’ll be much like giving us our just desserts, I imagine. I daresay you’ll walk out of it feeling like new.’

‘Deal,’ Noctis shoots out straight away; the agreement’s quite soft-spoken, and already sounds less irritable, to Gladiolus’ content satisfaction. ‘I guess it’s a good thing that you guys are so happy, but you both deserve some roundhouse kicks after traumatizing me for half the night.’

‘Looking forward to them,’ Gladiolus grins, and barely shifts an inch when Noctis elbows him hard in the ribcage.

 

* * *

 

In some ways, he should’ve expected this confrontation to come. Especially after everything that’s come to pass.

Openly ogling one another on live television was probably quite bad enough; keeping the Crown Prince himself awake for half a night with audible indecency is an addition that Gladiolus has always suspected he mightn’t get away with. Particularly not when the Glaives have a habit of being chatterboxes, and surely the incident’s more than likely to have turned into widespread Citadel gossip by now.

Not that that bothers him at all, really. In the end, it’s far better than tucking away what he and Ignis have into a secret, smothered corner in the dark.

‘… Look, being twenty-three, you’ve served at Prince Noctis’ side for a long time now. This isn’t brand new territory for you,’ his father says with patience, fixing an unwavering stare on him. ‘I’m merely saying that there’s a difference between hiding away one’s relationship in a manner of denial, and dialing it back in a public space for the purposes of professionalism.’

‘Really. An intervention?’ Gladiolus deadpans, pointedly folding his arms.

‘Well, how firm I am with you depends on how hard you decide to argue,’ answers Clarus in a steady voice, not at all backing down. ‘I’m not asking you to break it off with the Scientia boy, but part of your job is to keep up appearances. When you’re on duty, your full discipline is demanded. That means no flirting while there’s any live media coverage. No leering at each other during meetings, or during formal recruit training sessions, or while you two are escorting Prince Noctis on his occasional outings – nothing like that. And when you’re staying at the Citadel, you need to exercise awareness and tact. No matter what happens in the privacy of your room.’

A long, belly-deep sigh leaves Gladiolus’ lips.

In the end, it’s not like that’s an unfair thing to ask.

‘… I really like him, Dad,’ he murmurs under his breath; the intensity behind the words swells in his chest like a tide. ‘I mean like, a _lot_. I always have.’

‘And despite my earliest misgivings, I have no complaint with you acting on that. As long as you understand that there’s a time and place for it – unfortunately, our work can’t always accommodate our private passions.’ Clarus’ eyes soften at the corners, then. ‘But then again, you’re a grown adult and about to embark on one of the most important trips that said work will ever take you on, with your partner at your side. I have no doubts that the ramblings of an old man are possibly the last thing on your mind.’

‘C’mon, you’re not just any old man. You’re the great Clarus Amicitia,’ Gladiolus says in reassurance, clapping a solid hand on his father’s back. ‘And I know that you care. Iggy will see it for what it is, too.’

The breath Clarus releases at that is thick and heavy, as though it’d been suspended in his lungs for some time. ‘I hope the two of you – _all of you_ – take care of each other out there.’

A strong statement, like the final cadence at the end of a musical movement. Like a set of doors have just closed, and another set are sweeping open.

He doesn’t need to say it twice.

 

* * *

 

‘… You two seem awfully restless,’ Noctis monotones, peering intently through the rear-view mirror.

Gladiolus throws Ignis a sidelong glance at the unexpected remark; they exchange a quick look across the Regalia’s back seat, brows lifting simultaneously in surprise.

Ignis slants his mouth. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that it’s obvious that you guys wanna be sappy and gross back there,’ answers Noctis with some degree of exasperation. ‘Your fidgeting is like, shaking the car.’

Self-awareness envelops them straight away. Gladiolus consciously puts a stop to the restless jittering of his knee; he hadn’t even realized that Ignis had also been tapping his fingertips against his own thigh until the movement visibly dies away, all of a sudden.

‘… Go be sickeningly happy, already. There’s literally no one here that you really need to behave in front of.’ The sentiment’s said in a level voice, with clear and firm conviction; a wave of appreciation instantly blooms within the cage of Gladiolus’ ribs, just hearing it. ‘That’s an order, by the way. Which you’ve gotta follow, you know, as per your professional duty.’

‘Well. Who are we to deny His Highness’ command,’ says Ignis with subtle amusement, reaching his hand out across the car seat; Gladiolus duly reciprocates, threading their fingers together, and the tense disquiet that’d been tremoring through his muscles starts to wind down without any delay. ‘You heard him, Gladio.’

Gladiolus raises their joined hands together to press a kiss to the back of Ignis’ palm, and grins.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've managed to get all the way here to the end, thank you so much for reading ;__; Again, this is my first ever gladnis so it means a lot that you were willing to give this fic a try! I'd love to hear any feedback that you're willing to give, so please let me know what you think :D
> 
> If any of you bought the zine, I'd love to know what you thought of it too!! I was personally stoked with how it turned out, it's a real honor and privilege to have been given the opportunity to contribute to such an awesome project.
> 
> Also, come talk FFXV things with me on [Tumblr](http://harmonization.tumblr.com/post/183797576346/)! (Just bear in mind that I'm a multishipper, but I'd love to chat about gladnis or anything FFXV in general) ♥


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